


The Aftermath (UNDER EDITING)

by aboredwriter



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Brion deals with his trauma, Found Family, Gen, Post-Canon, Sibling Fluff, This hurts, a little whumpy, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2020-11-07 14:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20818667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboredwriter/pseuds/aboredwriter
Summary: The Outsiders find out that their friend has been mind-controlled into taking the throne of Markovia. Along with the JLA and The Covert Ops Unit, they put a stop to the chaos caused by Ambassador Baazovi, but it's too late. Markovia has fallen into political unrest, Helga Jace still holds sway over Brion's emotions, none of the royal children are fit to take the throne, and public tensions are rising.





	1. Finding Out

Brion Markov; traitor, murderer, assassin, king. 

But none of it was true, none of it had ever been true. The throne rightfully belonged to Gregor. After all, Markovia could've used the gentle hand of someone like his brother. Mother of God, thoughts of his brother drove him back to their childhood, when he'd wake up crying in the middle of the night. Gregor would come into his room, fighting sleep himself, and talk about whatever images appeared in Brion's nightmares that night, brushing his hair and talking softly until he drifted back to sleep. 

It was odd, as his father used to note, that Brion ended up with nightmares at all. He hadn't been through any trauma, not by that point, and he was far too old--eight, nine, ten, even eleven-years-old--for his problem to be chalked up to the normal problems of a young child. Instead of outgrowing the problem, it seemed to worsen as he grew older, peaking after he lost his parents. If Baazovi would give him the chance to close his eyes for long enough, he can still recall the feeling of laying in the bioRV, trying to stay awake and avoid the nightmares, slightly uncomfortable from his post-training soreness. 

Baazovi's touch on his mind cut his thoughts short, ringing in his head like a dog-whistle. 

"My King, are you alright?" 

_No, I'm not, and you know that I'm not, you bastard. _

He wasn't sure if the ambassador could see into his thoughts and frankly, he didn't care. Helga's falsely-worried expression made him sick. It made him want to melt right into the ground, cocooned in his own magma, and escape her. 

"I'm fine, Ambassador." 

Baazovi threw him a sly glance. That _mudak _knew exactly what he was doing. Brion hated him more than he'd ever hated anything before. He was the reason Brion had nowhere else to go, the reason his friends--his _family--_were now disgusted by him, the reason he had to lead a puppet kingdom, the reason he had to watch as his own people made their hatred for his metagene known. 

Then an idea dawned on him. He made sure to bury it in the back of his mind, creating a sort of mental firewall to avoid Baazovi finding out about it. 

He had to contact an _outside source. _Someone who wasn't involved. Violet, Tara, Gregor, or Conner would never pick up the phone if he tried to contact them, but someone who was uninvolved and didn't know who he was? He might have a chance. 

"Is my work done?" 

"For now, Klamaris, yes, it is," Baazovi replied. 

"In that case, I'm going to go downstairs by the gardens. _Alone. _No one is to follow me, understood?" 

"But the guards--"

"_No one. _My mother is buried there, I want to be alone with her." 

Baazovi bowed his head slightly. Brion didn't wait for an answer, trudging out as promised. 

He glanced over at his mother's grave, marked _Ilona Markov, beautiful and fierce_. Those two words didn't even touch the tip of the iceberg, he thought, she was so much more. She was intelligent and strong, brave and protective. Tara must've been missing her deeply. 

He scrolled through his phone, trying to find someone who didn't know him among his nearly-one-thousand contacts. A name stood out to him: _Harper Row. _

Tara and Violet's school friend. He had seen her before, spoken to her briefly. She was similar to what Tara had once been: outgoing, loud, fun, a little too careless. 

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the _call _button. 

It only took a few rings for her to pick up the phone. "Hello? Who is this?" 

Brion wasted no time. "This is Tara's older brother. I need you to deliver a message." 

There was a brief, painful silence. "...Okay, what's the message, Brian?" 

If he had been under different circumstances, he would've snorted in laughter._ Brian. _He knew he had a very ethnic-sounding name, but could Harper at least _try _to get it right? 

"Ambassador Baazovi is a telepath. He's been manipulating me since I--well, since he _made me _kill Bedlam, eight months ago. Please, just tell everyone that I didn't really _do _any of this. That I don't want this. I need them to know that this isn't really me." 

Brion swore he could hear Harper's thoughts bouncing around her head. "Alright...I'll contact Tara. Just hang tight, okay? You want me to call you back?"

"Please?"

"No problem. Just give me a few minutes to make a phone call." 

He almost couldn't believe it. It was finally almost over. He had a chance at _freedom_. 

Nearly a half-hour passed before his phone buzzed again. He looked down at the name: _Tara Markov or metelyk. _

He didn't skip a beat, pressing the call button quicker than he'd ever done anything before. "Tara? Metelyk? Hello?" 

"Brion," Tara said, and Brion could hear that she was crying already, "Harper just told me. Is it true?" 

"It is. I think you were right, back when we were young, when you told me he was suspicious. I'm so sorry, I never listened to you." 

"Don't be, lyubov, I didn't like him because he looked like a big toe."

Brion wiped tears from his eyes, chuckling. Tara had been such a motormouth back then. 

"I love you, Tara. YA lyublyu tebe."

"YA tezh tebe lyublyu, Brion. I'm going to contact Jeff, we can get you out of there." 

"Thank you."

"Always. Goodbye, _for now, _Brion."

"Goodbye, Tara." 

There was a short, harsh pause before Tara finally hung up. Just before the ear-splitting ring of the phone filled the silence, he could faintly hear Tara calling out _"Artemis, Will, come here!"_

Tears filled his eyes faster than he could hold them. Mother of God, this was truly happening. He was going _home, _going towards his _freedom. _His heart swelled with excitement, his senses overwhelmed by anticipation of seeing his friends--his _family. _His thoughts were saturated with memories of Tara: _ladybug, _metelyk. Of her small body, cradled in his lap while the thunderstorms slammed against the windows. Of her little hand, playfully swatting him when he threw a teasing remark her way. Of Gregor: his older brother, the one he was inseparable from in his entire early childhood. The one who would brush his hair until the nightmares melted away into fragmented memories. Of his mentors: Conner, _Grayson, _and Artemis. Of nights on the beach where they'd have banter after training. Of Violet. Of Garfield. Of Victor. Of Lian, the playful little girl who he never really got to know, but affectionately admired from a distance. Of Will, Lian's father. Of Helga--

No, he wouldn't think of Helga right now. Not while his thoughts were racing with the excitement of going _home. _

He had thought he was home, coming back to Markovia, but it didn't feel like home anymore. The Markovian Palace hadn't been home since his exile, over a year before. Not since he had found his parents' corpses. Not since he had cried in Gregor's arms, hidden away in the corner of their bedroom. The thoughts of that night flooded him: 

_His hands were shaking, he sprinted down the hallway, breathing heavy. He had to find Gregor. Gregor had to know. He had to find his brother. Was Gregor okay? Had he found out yet? He felt sick--his legs were aching but it didn't matter--he just had to keep running---run---run--just keep running--_

Buzz. 

His phone was ringing again. How long had it been vibrating? 

He was relieved to see Artemis_'s _name plastered across the screen. 

"Hello?"

"Brion, kid, you there?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Listen to me, okay?" She was gasping for air slightly, maybe she was out of breath, or maybe just in shock. Hell, he was shocked, too. That had actually _worked _and Baazovi didn't know yet. "We'll meet at a rendezvous point."

"Where is that? Baazovi's telepathic range is not any smaller than the palace grounds. I finally managed to convince him to leave me alone today, and I don't think he'll be off my case for long."

"I know. Will's talking to Garth right now. With a little work--well, a _shit ton _of work, but you get the idea. Anyway, rendezvous point. What about...okay, how about this, where are you usually? It doesn't matter if the ambassador's there, we can have someone go undercover as a guard or something."

"The throne room. It's impossible to miss, and Tara will know where it is. I'll be in there."

"Okay..." Brion's brow furrowed as Artemis's voice grew far from the phone for a moment, _"Tara, no, hey, c'mere...don't cry, okay? It's not your fault, we'll get him out, okay? Violet, can you get her some tea?" _Her voice got back suddenly, "You might have to be under Baazovi's control for a little while longer. Just go back, try to make sure he doesn't find out about this, and go on as normal. Depending on air currents and all that stuff, Bioship should get us there within the next hour or so. We'll come in covertly." 

"Tell Tara to lead you through the back entrance. It's the easiest route to me, she'll know where it is." 

"Will do." 

"Goodbye," Brion said, then added: "For now." 

"See you soon."

He couldn't believe it. He was going to go _home. _


	2. Long Overdue Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion reunites with his siblings and, for the first time in months, he has a feeling that everything will be okay...it's a shame that it won't last long.

Brion did as he was told, just as he'd been raised to: sat in the throne room, his heart pounding. There was no way Baazovi wasn't picking up on his anxieties. He could feel the ambassador digging in his mind, peeling back the layers to find the cause of his subtle reactions: the twitch in his left hand--an old, nervous habit he could never seem to get rid of--and the way his jaw trembled for just a second too long before he spoke.

It wasn't until one of the Markovian royal guards, a new face, gave him a sharp nod and an eyebrow raise. He tried to imagine what the face would look like without that ridiculous uniform. His heart leaped with relief when he finally realized whose blue eyes were staring right through his soul--_Grayson. Nightwing. _

If he was here, that meant Tara would be there as well. 

Dick walked past him, masterfully repressing a smirk, and winked at him. Helga obviously picked up on it, but she didn't comment and frankly, Dick didn't seem to give a damn, so neither did Brion.

Dick probably wasn't the best choice for a Markovian guard, he noted--Artemis had apparently passed along her eye for detail because he never would've realized this before--as he had never seen a Markovian with black hair and Dick was _far _too white to be Quraqi. Still, his Markovian was...well, given Brion's past experience, Grayson's skills with the language were shoddy at best, but he could stammer through enough basic words to get him by for the duration of a mission. 

Baazovi's touch in his mind was erased by the mind-link, a sudden, surprisingly soothing feeling. Megan's voice, deep in the back of his mind:

_"Brion, can you hear me?" _

_"Yes."_

_"Is Nightwing in there with you?"_

_"He is, but so is the ambassador." _

_"Ignore him. Baazovi is a poor excuse for a telepath. I've never been able to remove telepathic control that quickly. He's nothing, compared to us." _

_"I didn't spend nearly a year being controlled by nothing, Miss Martian." _

_"No, you didn't, but y'know what? He's weaker than he seems." _

Brion decided not to dwell on it. _"Where are you?"_

_"Outside the castle. In a few minutes, Dick will tell the ambassador and Helga that you need to leave for an emergency meeting or something along those lines--I don't know, actually, he said he knew what he was doing, so let's pray his improv is good enough for that. Anywho, he'll pretend to escort you out, when he'll really take you to the bioship, understood, Geo-force?" _

He nearly cracked a smile at the sound--or, well, imaginary sound--of his old alias and all the memories tied to it. 

_"Understood. Baazovi looks panicked right now. He realizes that he lost control of me, I think." _

_"He won't say it out loud. Helga's protective over you, remember? She'd throw a fit if she knew what was really happening. I'm about to head out of range--we're clearing an exit for you right now. Tara's with me and Gregor is on the bioship, so look forward to that in the meantime, okay? Bye, Brion."_

He didn't get the chance to say goodbye--just like with his parents--before Megan's voice disappeared. Baazovi spoke up:

"My King, would you like to go on a walk with me?" 

It was a ploy to get him away from Dick. He knew it. 

"No, thank you, Ambassador. I'd rather stay here, in case something happens." 

"You should come with me."

He risked an anxious glance at Dick. "I'd rather go alone. With a guard." 

Nightwing was no fool. He took the hint--Thank _God. _"I'll take him with me." 

Helga and Baazovi glanced at each other. They could both tell that something was wrong, but neither wanted to say. Helga reached an arm out to cup Brion's face, an action that still, even after years of knowing that she was a monster, still made his stomach turn. 

He walked out of the room with Nightwing, who excitedly whipped off his guard helmet and slung an arm around Brion's shoulders. Brion took his crown off, smiling to himself. The crown only weighed about ten pounds at most, but taking it off felt like a huge weight had been lifted from him. 

"We're getting you out of here, Kid," Nightwing said, and Brion could've sworn he could _taste _the anxious regret in his voice, "just follow me." 

Dick led him through the corridor, the one he always used to get lost in as a little boy, and out through the back entrance. There, he saw, all in their Winter stealth uniforms, M'gann, Artemis, and Tara. 

The area was clear, save for the overwhelming amounts of snow and an unconscious guard on the ground, stripped of his uniform. 

He made eye-contact with his sister. His beautiful, kindhearted sister. She had seemed so strong since her return to his life, never crying out or showing any extreme emotions, but that facade melted away in mere seconds when their eyes met. She erupted into tears, throwing her bo staff aside and sprinting to him. Before Brion could even process what was happening, her arms were clasped around his torso, crushing him, and her body was shaking with silent sobs. He cradled the back of her head, burying his face in her hair and rocking her back and forth slightly. Her hair. It looked just like their mother's. Felt like it, too. Blonde. Somehow knotted in the back despite what felt like a lifetime of brushing it before bed. 

"_Metelyk, _don't cry..." He muttered. 

"How can I not?" She chuckled between sobs, staring up at him with a small smile on her face. 

"Mama always said that your face was too beautiful for tears." 

They pulled apart for a brief moment for Brion to cup her face in his hands, finally seeing her entirely. That was when it all hit him, how painfully starved he was for human interaction. How badly he'd been missing the sight of her face, contorted with laughter or playful anger. The pain. The joy. The relief. It was all there, swelling up in his chest and making its way to his eyes, the mixture of emotions coming out in the form of tears, dripping down his face and into Tara's hair. 

Artemis wordlessly guided them onto the bioship, where Gregor soon joined the mix, with his own tears, scooping them both up in his arms and added his own sobs to the chorus. He pressed a kiss to Brion's temple every few moments, between sobs and whispered reassurances in both English and Markovian. 

"I'm so sorry..." Brion finally said, once he found his voice. 

"None of what's happened has been your fault. You weren't in control," M'gann cut in, "we all know that." 

"Now that I'm gone, what's to come of Markovia?" Brion glanced around, realizing that he hadn't thought ahead.

"The country will have to have been--no, wait, that English is wrong...." Gregor trailed off, "The United Nations will be deciding on what to do with Markovia. For now, I'll help to oversee things through the...the online..._ebat'tse **(fuck it), **_you know what I mean." 

Gregor leaned down and kissed the top Brion's head, earning a slight smile from the younger twin. For once, he finally felt like he was home, with his family. This feeling only swelled more when he turned around to find Violet and Forager standing behind him.

He was with his family now. He was safe...for now. 


	3. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion is staying in M'gann and Conner's house for the night.  
Tw: nightmare scene, death mention

"He's finally out?" Conner asked.

It had been a challenge, getting Brion to rest. He had been convinced that he was dreaming, not wanting to risk getting his hopes up. Gregor had had to repeat it to him over and over again, that he was _real _and _here _and _safe. _

"Yes," Gregor replied, running a hand through his brother's hair, mindlessly fidgeting with the brown locks.

"It's late. You should probably get some rest, too," Conner commented. 

"It is?" 

"Probably doesn't feel like it, since we were in Markovia, but time zones will mess you up if you don't pay attention. It's midnight. I'm heading up to sleep, but make yourself at home, yeah?" 

"Thank you for letting me stay with him," Gregor said, letting out a subtle sigh of exhaustion.

"Oh come on, I couldn't have pulled you two apart even if I wanted to," Conner said, chuckling to himself.

In his sleep, Brion leaned towards his brother, lazily extending an arm. Gregor took his hand and moved his free arm out of the way so that Brion could lay across his lap. "I mean...you aren't _wrong, _but I probably wouldn't not have--_wouldn't have _taken over your couch. Sorry, I don't speak English very often."

"Don't worry about it. G'night, Kid." 

"Goodnight." 

_An empty room. A pounding heart. Thundering footsteps. _

_Brion fumbled to unlock the door to his parents' bedroom. He really did hate the lock on their door--it was always so hard to open with shaking hands. Tara was gone. Tara was missing, maybe even **dead. **His mother would cry every night, only for his father to make some offhanded comment about how Tara was 'dumb enough to get abducted' before rolling over and going to sleep. He had never given a damn about any of them, only about Markovia. And that was how he raised them--to put Markovia first and their health and happiness second, hence the bags under Gregor's eyes. _

_His father was sound asleep. His mother, sitting up in bed, with a book in her lap, humming to herself. She looked at peace for once, and for a second, he believed that she had momentarily forgotten about losing her daughter, until he realized that she was humming 'Flight of a Ladybug'. _

_He turned around to see Tara, standing at the end of the hallway, smiling. She was younger than him only by two years, but she seemed to be only around the age of nine, with her hair tied into a neat bun behind her head. _

_"Brion? Where are you?" She called in Markovian, "I don't see you. Please. Please. I'm scared. I'm scared. I don't see anything, please--"_

_"Tara. Metelyk, I'm here! Tara! I'm right here!" _

_It was no use. She continued frantically glancing around, screaming for him. His chest became tight. _

_He screamed, at the top of his lungs: **"TARA!" **_

_That sharp yell seemed to pierce through the scene in front of him, moving him to another vision. One of his uncle, Frederick DeLamb, looking into the eyes of his mother--Frederick's own sister--before killing her. It was a horrific scene, exaggerated by the darkest parts of his mind. One he had imagined many times over. He wasn't there to see it, to save her. _

_A tap on his shoulder tried to jolt him out of his thoughts, but it was too late. _

_His mother was gone. _

_He would never see her smile again. _

Never hear her laugh.

Never make hear her call Tara 'her little ladybug' again. 

He glanced around, eyes wide, expecting to see yet another disturbing fabrication, but he just saw M'gann and Conner's living room. Gregor was on him in a second, running a hand through his hair, mumbling to him in Markovian. 

"Breathe, Brion, just _breathe." _

Breathe. Why was it so difficult to do that? It was a basic human function, yet it seemed absolutely impossible. Why did his chest heave like that every time he tried to inhale? Why was his heart racing? Why had Bedlam killed his parents? Why did Baazovi mind-control him? 

"Breathe, Brion, you're safe." 

No, he wasn't safe. He would never be safe again. What would his father think, seeing him like this, a nervous wreck and unfit to rule? Mother of God, what would _Markovia _think of him? A weak, unworthy prince who betrayed his own teammates because he wasn't strong enough to resist useless mind-control. What would his mother think? God, this would've hurt her so much, seeing her child so upset. Would she be proud of him, all that he'd done? Or would she be scared of him being in danger? Would she be disappointed? Had he done enough? 

Gregor's words started to become static, white noise in the background of his thoughts while his chest heaved and tears streamed down his face. He hugged himself and dug his fingernails into his arms, trying to find a way to release the pressure that was building up in his chest, since the sobs weren't doing anything other than causing more pain. His brother was quick to try prying his hands away from his arms, but the tension in his body and the difference in strength between them made that difficult. 

"Breathe," Gregor muttered in Markovian, "just breathe. Don't worry about anything else." 

He grabbed Brion by the wrists and hesitantly put his brother's arms around himself, angling his body so that Brion's head was on his chest. "Listen to my heartbeat. Do you hear it?"

Brion nodded, swallowing a sob. 

"Just focus on that. Don't focus on anything else." 

"Okay...okay," Brion muttered, closing his eyes, feeling his body start to relax. 

The twins fell asleep that way, in a tangle of limbs, to the sound of Gregor's heartbeat, in one of thise moments of peace that were few and far between for them after being raised around political turmoil all their lives.

And those moments would remain few and far between. 


	4. Baazovi's capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baazovi is taken from Markovia to America and interrogated. Conner almost loses control.

In hindsight, Kaldur realized, bringing _Conner _of all people in to help interrogate the ambassador wasn't his best move. Superboy had a look on his face that Kaldur recognized from their earlier missions, when a constant, dead-silent anger would claw at Conner constantly. It made his stomach turn. 

It didn't help the case that Baazovi wasn't even budging, staring up at them with a smug grin tugging at one sight of his mouth, legs confidently crossed in the steel folding chair. Kaldur knew that look from Luthor--this man thought he was _untouchable. _Maybe he was right, considering that he'd spoken to several league members and Outsiders, all varying in their...methods (Beast Boy had nearly gotten himself kicked out, not that Kaldur blamed him), for three-and-a-half hours. He was practically invincible and M'gann's self-imposed rules on using her telepathy restricted her from digging for information that way. 

"Are you working with The Light?" Every word was dragged from Conner's lips, slow and firm. 

"More or less," Baazovi replied. 

"What do you mean by that?" Kaldur took the seat across the table from him, realizing that his old habit of pacing had taken over. 

"I mean _more or less," _He repeated, "I helped them out, sure, but that doesn't mean I have any loyalties one way or the other. All I want is what's best for Markovia. So, yes, I'm _technically _working _with _The Light, but not _for _them in any way."

"You want what's best for Markovia?" Conner said, "is that why you let the country go to absolute waste,_ Ambassador? _Is that why members of the Markovian parliament can't agree on anything, so the country will continue on with insufficient laws to help lower-class citizens or Quraqi refugees?" 

"I don't see the..._poorer parts _of Markovia in my vision. In my mind's eye, I can see a _perfect nation, _an international powerhouse: Markovia. The poor and the immigrants cannot contribute to our political standing, much less our wealth as a country. If King Brion would have allowed me to do so, I would have had the _slums _of my nation burned to the ground, but he was more stubborn than I thought he was. Dr. Jace, though she was an absolute fool, was right when she said that he's just a considerate young boy at heart, when you take away all the layers of anger that we instilled in him." 

Well, at least it was _something. _

"What do you mean, 'instilled in him'?"

"Brion's father wanted him to be fit to rule, should something ever happen to Gregor. Queen Ilona agreed that Brion should have some political power, but all of us knew she wouldn't agree with what happened next, so we kept her in the dark while we dealt with her children." 

"Who's 'we'?" Conner asked.

"Myself, King Viktor Markov, and the royal tutor. The tutor was named Agatha, I remember her, she was an old woman, long dead by now. We made sure that Brion grew up feeling a certain way. We never let him feel good enough--I remember one day in particular, when I realized how good of a job we were doing, when the twins were both in their bedroom, drawing. I believe they were around nine at the time. They asked their father who drew a certain picture better, I think it might have been a dragonfly, and he replied that Gregor was better, and that Brion was, and always would be _sixteen minutes short of being good enough._ It made Brion want to fight harder, to prove himself. He didn't have the same support as Gregor and in time, he stopped needing it. He never stopped _wanting it, _though. He craved approval and we never gave it to him. Indirectly, we created the King you saw in Markovia. We always planned for Gregor to become King, but he grew...not spoiled, per se, but _nosy _in recent years. He always wanted to know more about the inner workings of the country and how laws worked and what the punishments were. I swear, he'd be a lawyer if he weren't a Prince. Brion, on the other hand, we conditioned that boy to strive for approval, so he does things without asking questions. Naturally, he snapped a bit after Tara's disappearance, even more so after the murder of his parents, but he served his purpose." 

"What do you mean by 'snapped'?" Kaldur asked. Something wasn't right here. Baazovi was revealing a bit too much for him to be entirely being honest here, he was definitely still hiding something. 

"Well, he stopped being so desperate for attention and approval. He stopped caring, frankly, when we compared him to his brother's successes. The twins somehow kept a close bond--I swear, they're connected by _brain waves_\--throughout all of this. He started wanting to learn about metahuman resources to find Princess Tara. He was smarter than I thought, and he stopped focusing on his studies as much as he had in the past. Still, he was restricted on how much he could act out. He couldn't raise his voice, he couldn't really express anger in any way. Instead, he would tuck himself away as often as he could, because any outburst would be met with a harsh punishment from King Viktor," he paused, making eye-contact with Conner, "and then he came to America, where, during his training, he had more freedom to express his grief. But he was falling behind in training, because of his focus on Tara, and it only made him feel even more second-best, I remember him telling me--just a few weeks ago, in fact. His anger was festering for a long time. It was child's play, getting him to kill DeLamb for me." 

Conner clenched his fists and opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Kaldur, motioning for him to leave and take a break. He left the room and went into the main part of the Watchtower, where a few league members were staring at the live recording of the interrogation in shock. Someone had called Black Canary over, apparently, since she was perched in front of the screen, scribbling notes down. Good, he thought. Dinah was good at her job as a counselor for the team and if this was Baazovi had been telling the truth, she had her work cut out for her.

There was _a lot _of work to be done in this situation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, what Baazovi said in this chapter doesn't reflect my own opinions in any way. It scares me that I have to specify this, with the number of people that ACTUALLY think this way.


	5. The Number Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinah decides to talk to Brion about his past. (Basically counseling chapter #1/3)

The room was still, thick with nervous silence. Brion ran a hand through his hair a few times, reminding himself to keep the fidgeting at a minimum--his father never liked it. Dinah's face was calm, her arms resting on the arms of her chair as she looked at him from across the desk, waiting for him to speak. It had been this way for almost five minutes before she finally caved: 

"Do you _want _to talk about this?" 

She knew he had practically been dragged here by M'gann. Not without good reason, but still. He had to be ready. 

"I..don't know what to say," he confessed. 

"Okay, then let's start out simple and work up from there. What was it like, growing up a prince? We're in private, by the way. No recordings, no third parties. Nothing leaves this room, so don't worry about holding back." 

She couldn't help but note the way he visibly relaxed after hearing that they were alone. 

Brion nodded. "It was...complicated. I loved my mother. My siblings. The time we would spend in the gardens. But there was still something that didn't feel right. I used to call it _shistnadtsyatʹ, _sixteen. The number followed me everywhere."

"What do you mean by that?" 

"My brother was sixteen minutes older than me, separating me from the throne. My sister disappeared on the sixteenth of September. My first pet fish died in twenty-sixteen. My parents' bedroom..." he paused, swallowed, then continued, "the one where they were murdered in, it was the sixteenth one down that hallway. I counted sixteens. My mother, she was always so superstitious, she claimed it as bad luck, warned me to avoid it." 

Dinah tilted her head. It was a starting point. "_Did_ you avoid it?" 

"Like the plague," he chuckled, "but it still caught up to me. DeLamb had sixteen medals in total. Baazovi had sixteen paintings hung up in his room. Even on missions with the Outsiders, I looked for sixteens." 

"Did you find any?" 

"Occasionally, yes. They never ended up being anything detrimental." 

"You mentioned how your uncle had sixteen medals. What about your father? He was in the military, too, was he not?" 

"Yes, yes, he was. I told him about my suspicion of sixteens once. He only _earned _seven of them, but bought eleven more after I told him, probably because I had failed my history exams. Or just to scare me. Or maybe it was to prove me wrong. He had never been as superstitious as my mother." 

"He wanted you to be afraid of him." 

"I wouldn't say _that._ He was..." Brion took a moment to think of the right word, "..._harsh,_but he still cared. He wanted me to be the best I could be. I knew that."

"And so you never complained?"

"That's right." 

"Did he ever make you cry?"

"Well, obviously. Well...I'm not sure if it was just stress from the pressure I was put under or the way he reacted that _actually _upset me. I could never place it. It was the feeling I'd get in my nightmares, too, when I had those." 

"'The pressure you were put under'. Who put that pressure on you?"

"Baazovi and...well, my ancestors?" He chuckled to himself, though it struck Dinah as almost morbid, "I could never quite keep up with my brother in our schoolwork."

"Were you ever jealous of him?"

"Once in a blue moon, sure." 

"What exactly were you jealous of?"

"Excuse me?" 

"What did he have that you wanted? Attention? Was it just his skill that you were jealous of? _Why _were you jealous?"

There was a long silence while Brion considered what his reply would be. He chewed the side of his lip in thought, staring up at the ceiling. "I...I suppose it was...I suppose it was because everything seemed to come easy to him. He got the results I wanted but in half the time." 

"Why do you think he was able to do that?" 

"Oh, I don't know...he was just..._smarter _than me. My father said it once, how I was sixteen minutes short of being good enough. Maybe he was right." 

"You fared well as an Outsider," Dinah reminded him, "you were brand new to the vigilante world and able to keep up with Blue Beetle and Wondergirl, members who've been here for nearly three years."

"No, I didn't," Brion said, trying to cling to whatever that feeling was--humility? Insecurity? Weren't they the same?

"Markovia seemed to recognize you. You had plenty of fans from over there." 

"Sure, but now they all despise me as the king that failed them."

"That's what _they _think of you, Brion. But what do _you _think of _yourself?"_

"They're the same," Brion shook his head, brows creasing in confusion, "I'm a royal prince. My worth is _dependent _on what I can do for my country."

"Do you enjoy being a prince?"

She knew what the answer would be, sure, but she wanted to gauge whether he'd try to lie about it or not. 

"Does it matter what I enjoy? Like I said, _Brion _doesn't really matter in the eyes of my nation, _Markovian prince _matters, so that's what I will be. Because that is what my country needs me to be."

"Brion, you matter just as much as anyone else. Your siblings adore you, right? They were raised the same way you were, with the same mindset of 'I do what my country needs me to do', but they still keep you close. They see your worth. They love you, Brion, I know you know that." 

There was a long, harsh pause. The silence stung Brion like a collection of needles, forcing him to hunch over in defeat. He licked his lips, tears burning at his eyes. The stillness had become too still and the room was spinning. Instinctively, he ran a hand through his hair, down the back, almost to the nape of his neck, trying to replicate the feeling of Gregor brushing his hair. 

"...I pray that my siblings will never see in me what I see in myself." 

His voice was shaky and drowned in secrecy, slow to match the pace of the silence, as if even though his father was long dead, Brion was still fearing punishment for revealing his honest feelings. Dinah didn't realize it at first, until she saw the way Brion tensed right after he finished speaking. She could see his lips moving, struggling to fill the silence with some kind of _noise._ He wanted a distraction, a conversation, a stimulation. _Something. _

His hatred for the stillness was even more obvious when she caught him fidgeting with his hair again. He couldn't sit still for too long, she realized, even since coming in. He always had to be occupied, his mind or body always doing something. 

"They never will," she reassured him, "because that thing you see in yourself, that thing that you hate. It isn't really there. The circumstances of your life created that monster." 

Brion scoffed. "'Circumstances of my life'. Mother of God, I was a _prince. _I should be grateful," he said it as if he were having a genuine epiphany, it made her stomach flip, "after all, it could have been so much worse." 

Dinah was quick to reply. "It could have also been so much _better." _

Brion sighed, and the silence returned. "But what if it's just me? What if I'm making it out to be worse than it is?" 

"What if you're not?" 

He ran a hand over his hand again. "What if I am?" 

"Brion, think of it this way: what you're handling is a problem, big or small. If it's a small problem and you make it seem bigger, it's like...well, think of it like a bug, okay? There's an ant in your house, let's say. Do you leave the ant alone, because it's small and un-intimidating? No, because then you might get more ants. Just like how underestimating a problem only leads to more problems. Now, say, if you got...I don't know, _Raid _and sprayed the hell out of that ant. Sure, that ant is going to be absolutely destroyed, but you fixed the problem, even if it was overkill, because now the ant is gone. The problem is solved. So it doesn't matter how 'dramatic' you think you are, because you still have to get rid of that ant."

She probably should have thrown in the fact that this was serious trauma and how he wasn't being dramatic, but he'd probably deny it. The first step was getting him to accept that he needed help and that no one would blame him for reaching out. 

He closed his eyes for a second, then nodded again, but he didn't say a word. 

"What I'm trying to say is that being quote-unquote _'dramatic' _isn't really a bad thing. A big solution to a small problem is better than a small solution to a big problem." 

"I...I understand." 

She softened, realizing that she was practically leaning over the table to talk to him, and slumped back slightly. "You talk so much about what Markovia is asking of you, of what it wants you to be. But, without the crown attached, _who are you? _What does _Brion _want?" 

Another silence followed, only being filled by Brion's fidgeting and a sound from the back of his throat that was somewhere between a whimper and a retch. He was deep in thought, and she was more than ready to give him space to think. After several minutes of digging through his mind for _who he was_ and _what he wanted--_two things he was not prepared to have to think about, though on second thought, he probably should have been. When his mind gave him nothing, he gave a weak reply:

"_I don't know," _he whispered. 

"Do you want some time to think about it? We can talk about it next time?" 

"Please?"

She gave a soft smile. "No problem." 

He practically deflated with the relief of not having to come up with something, slouching forward in his chair until he was practically curled into himself like a little animal. "Thank you." 

He had a lot to _think _about before _next time _came around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day!!! WOoooOOOOooo!


	6. What Does Brion Want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion considers Dinah's question and realizes how little of an answer he has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to update the character list lmao, this book ended up being broader than I expected it to. Dinah and Kaldur weren't originally even supposed to be around here.
> 
> ALSO: I'll be doing a NaNoWriMo book, which means this book's updates won't be very frequent throughout November, if there are any at all, but I'll try.

Gregor had rented himself and his siblings a hotel room the day before, just to get them both out of M'gann and Conner's way--after all, it wasn't like they couldn't afford it. Things were usually quiet, with Gregor working things out with the newly-employed Markovian ambassador who had taken Baazovi's place, leaving Brion by himself for a couple of hours every once in a while so he could close himself in the bedroom. 

It was one of these moments when Brion got the chance to think about Dinah's question to him. _What did he want for himself? _It was impossible to even fathom the fact that he didn't have to act on anyone else's orders and that he had his freedom now, and even when he was left entirely alone with his thoughts, he didn't feel like he could relax, sitting straight up on the couch and staring at his hands. 

The sixteen had followed him here, he realized, counting the number of books in the room. Maybe, for now, all he wanted was to get rid of these goddamn sixteens that his brain convinced him _couldn't _be coincidental. Gregor's over-the-phone discussion was background noise to his thoughts as he considered what had made him happy in the past:

Being a part of the Outsiders had brought him more satisfaction than he'd expected it to. Going on missions somehow relieved him of that pressure he always felt in the pit of his stomach, as if he _knew _he was doing good work and he had nothing to be insecure about. Of course, this was only temporary, a break in his usual routine of trying to suppress his anger, then blowing up when he couldn't anymore. He was careful not to use combat as an _outlet _for his anger; Conner had warned him against it. 

The only other thing he could think of that relaxed him like that was being with his siblings. Having Tara bury her head in the crook of his neck when she was tired or hearing Gregor trying harder than he needed to not to laugh when she made fun of him, those moments were total bliss. 

But what did he want to do with himself? 

He wanted to re-enter the field as GeoForce when he was ready. That was for sure, he'd realized that already, how much he loved what he was doing and the people he met while he did it. 

Maybe his mind was wandering too far from lack of sleep, but he decided to reflect on what he'd been working for. What was he striving for as GeoForce? He was raised a diplomat--skills he had used to talk Gregor into letting him take the last cookie and avoid 'corrections' from his father. 

_Correction. _That word was so disgusting, a simple word that made his skin crawl. King Viktor didn't want to raise his children, he wanted to _correct _the little demons that his wife had managed to give birth to. He'd hated Brion from the start. He recalled his father going on a rant about how disgusted he had been when Ilona had revealed that she was carrying twins, about how there could be only one heir and any other royal child was just a burden. He had said all of this while looking Gregor in the eyes, trying to force his son onto a pedestal that he didn't belong on. Gregor had nearly thrown up from the tension in the conversation. He actually _did _throw up the next night, when the tutor had dumped an extra packet of work on him at two o'clock in the morning when he was mentally exhausted after studying since he'd woken up at six-thirty. He hadn't even had enough time to put shoes on, being rushed out of the bedroom to get to work.

Brion never went to sleep without his brother by his side. He was a calming presence to his brother, and vice versa. Leaning back against the couch, he can almost feel the slump of the mattress as Gregor climbed into bed with him, the bags under his eyes visible even in the pitch-black room. 

He considered bringing up Gregor's emotional problems with Dinah--after all, there were plenty. Gregor was a perfectionist and an obsessive workaholic. He did things repetitively--checking exactly four times if he'd remembered to turn off the oven, making sure the door was locked every hour. It was like clockwork. Gregor would swear that he wasn't counting the minutes, and it was true. His behavior was just so marked by years of repetitive studies and long hours. Brion still remembers when they were six-years-old, when Gregor realized that the sugar in snack food could help him stay awake. He'd watched his twin force himself to binge, sometimes just dumping sugar into his water bottle when no one was looking and chugging it. By the time they were old enough for Gregor to be allowed coffee, sleep had become optional for the older twin. Still, Gregor was too proud to admit he needed counseling just as much as Brion did. It would have to wait. And when the time for Gregor to admit his weakness and his pain, Brion decided, he'd be by his brother's side, and they'd heal together. 

Dinah's question echoed in his mind again. _What do you want? _

He decided on his answer: He wanted to heal first, to rise above this pain and bring his brother up with him. Then, it was back into his mantle of GeoForce as soon as possible, to give hope and help to ensure that no child would have to go through what he'd gone through. He chose a specific goal now, to destroy the political corruption around the world that was ruining the lives of so many people. 

_That _was what Brion wanted. 

Funny, how like clockwork, Gregor came out of the bedroom and sat down next to his sibling just as he'd finished his revelation. He leaned against his brother's arm and kissed his cheek, watching the tension in Gregor's body finally melt away. 

Maybe giving hope to others was what would give him hope. 


	7. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion visits Dinah again, this time with a little more certainty, and The U.N. debates what to do with Baazovi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna crank out a couple more chapters before NaNoWriMo becomes my priority.

The United Nations had been bickering for _hours. _Even Gregor, who was raised in a world of politics and debates, had been routinely swearing at the TV after the second or third time Luthor had opened his mouth. 

"This is ridiculous," Tara said, "Just throw the man in jail and be done with it. He _obviously _committed _several _crimes."

"Did he, though?" Gregor replied, "Markovia isn't up-to-date on its policies, which he's made sure of. All significant laws are from _before _metagene-related issues became popular and known-about. He used a metagene for evil, yes, but Markovia really doesn't have laws against it. He's found a political loophole." 

Gregor's mentally-ingrained clock must've been ticking, because he got up for the thousandth time to make sure their door was locked, rattling the door with all the strength in his arm before sitting back down on the couch. He reached forward and snagged a french fry from the fast-diminishing food supply on their coffee table. The hotel room didn't have a working kitchen, so they'd had to make due. 

"There has to be _something _ to incriminate him," Tara said, voice laced with white-hot rage.

"I'm sure there is, but to find it, they have to play his game and find a loophole, Tara. It's not as simple as you make it out to be." 

Tara sighed, leaning against Brion's arm. She'd just gotten home from a mission--covert recon, though as usual, it hadn't gone down that way. 

Brion watched, trembling, as Baazovi's face was splayed across the screen. He rambled, trying to defend himself, but Brion didn't really catch any of it. All he could catch was that it was _him _and _his face. _

Tara tried lightening the mood: "He really does look like a big toe..." she muttered into his shoulder. 

Brion wanted to laugh, but his body and mind weren't quite connecting at the moment. Instead, he sat in shock, seeing his captor's face for the first time since his rescue. Tara's arm was around his waist, rubbing circles into his hip with her thumb. He must've started gasping, because Gregor moved unusually fast to cup his face while Brion's lip quivered.

"Brion, _dhykhaty. _Breathe." 

The sounds he made were more like pants than normal breaths, but he got by. Gregor scurried off into the bedroom for only a few seconds, and Brion almost instantly felt the cold air replace his brother's hands. 

_"Gregor--" _He whined. 

"I'm right here," Gregor's head reappeared in the doorway, "just breathe, okay? I'll be right back." 

Tara's grip tightened on him while the scene ahead of him played on: 

_"Ambassador Garth of Atlantis, why do you believe Ambassador Baazovi has committed a crime?" _

_This came from Luthor. Conner was undoubtedly scowling at home, if he was even watching. _

_"He unwillingly mind-controlled a minor, murdered Baron Frederick DeLamb, co-conspired with Slade Wilson, a known criminal--" _

_"Ambassador, having an alliance with a criminal does not make Baazovi a criminal," _ _Luthor replied. _

_"That may be true, but we cannot ignore the damage that was caused by not just Ambassador Baazovi, but Slade Wilson, to the Markov family. Aside from the fact that he explicitly stated in his confession that he intentionally participated in the emotional abuse of three children just so he could have more political control. Is it not our place to correct government corruption?" _

The words echoed in Brion's head: _emotional abuse. _

Surely, the word was too strong. He'd had a rough father, sure, but _abusive? _The connotations of the word were so bitter, so disgusting, and that's not who his father was. No, his father loved them, even if he had a strange way of showing it--

Was it abuse? 

Even Tara seemed to be grappling with it, staring numbly at her hands. He slumped an arm around her shoulders, wondering if it was the mention of her old mentor or the speech about abuse that was getting to her. She scooted in closer so that the two of them could just exist for a few seconds, in the warmth of each other's bodies. By the time Gregor came back out with a hairbrush for Brion, they were already curled up against each other. 

The oldest chuckled softly before plopping down on the couch next to him, running a hand through Tara's hair and for a second, Brion could tell by the look in his eyes, Gregor imagined it to be their mother's blonde locks. A few seconds passed with nothing but the TV's white noise and the scent of Tara's--well, the scent of _Artemis's _perfume that Tara had stolen, before Gregor got up to nervously review the hotel room for what had to be the thousandth time: 

Making sure the microwave was closed, adjusting the picture frames, putting away the books, putting the hairbrush down on the end table instead of the coffee table (no hair on the surface they'd be eating on). 

Then, he washed his hands and sat back down. 

The three of them agreed to shut the TV off when it got too intense. Instead of watching their traumas be repetitively discussed, they agreed to watch it later online (they knew from being raised in politics that _everything _was online, including one very strange article about their tutor's feet), and sat in each other's comfort before drifting off to sleep in a tangle of limbs. 


	8. I Can't Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion has another session with Dinah and suddenly, things make more sense.  
(Tw: panic attack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I know I probably should put more trigger-warnings on these. Please tell me if there should be a warning on something.
> 
> Also, no, this chapter won't go into a self-reflective chapter like the other counseling one did. I have a plan for next chapter, and it's not that.

Dinah sat down across from him with a soft sigh. He couldn't tell where that sigh had come from. Maybe it had just been a long day for her, or maybe she was taking note of his condition: the blue-black bags under his eyes, his thinness, the way he couldn't focus on anything in the room, not even to hunt for sixteens. 

"How've you been since the last time we spoke?"

"Fine. My siblings and I watched the U.N. conference last night. Some of it, at least."

"You turned it off early?"

Brion nodded. "Yes. It was...sensitive. I probably should've left it on." 

"Why's that?"

He shrugged. "I was raised around politics. As far as my country is concerned, I _am _politics. I was taught never to ignore information and not to avoid knowing as much as possible. We heard znannya-tse vlada--_knowlege is power--_so often. They always made sure we were studying. That we knew everything we needed to." 

"Who did?"

"What?"

"Who made sure you were studying?"

"My father and our tutor. And Baazovi, though he had his hands in other matters, so he wasn't around as much. My mother didn't like it. She wanted us to act like normal children sometimes, but she was told over and over again that we were royals and this is what royals did. Long hours. I think my longest day started at two A.M. and I went to sleep at twenty-two...sorry, Markovia uses military time. Ten o'clock in the night." 

"What were you doing all those hours?!" Dinah asked. 

"Studying. Most of that day was history, I think. I was nine."

"Now...Brion, I want to ask you something and I need you to answer me as honestly as possible, okay?"

Brion tensed. That tone was never good. That light, airy tone that a momentarily-sympathetic maid or a surprised onlooker would use when seeing what actually happened to Markovian royal children. 

"Okay..."

"if you didn't follow your father's rules, what would happen to you?" She leaned forward, as if taking a closer look at his face would help her see into his mind. 

Brion's head practically flashed with images. He took a long breath. "He...it..."

"Take your time," Dinah said, though something in Brion's head told him that there was an urgency in her voice. 

His jaw shook for a moment. "That all depended on what we did. Gregor was once expected to memorize a poem. It was called _Slava, _the one that inspired Markovia's national anthem. He couldn't remember it in time for when our tutor--Micic Agatha--was going to ask him to recite it. My father was livid. He told Gregor that he wasn't studying hard enough and that he didn't want the crown badly enough. It was a burden on my brother for years. He always wondered if he was working hard enough, even when he was nauseous and exhausted from the long hours," He wasn't going to cry, he promised himself, no matter how furious he was, "he slapped Gregor so hard he fell out of his seat. The chair toppled over with him. Gregor was up until three o'clock in the morning that night, reading and re-reading _Slava _until he finally passed out at his desk."

Dinah needed to tread lightly in this conversation. She could hear the quaking of Brion's voice, and she recognized it as what she had once seen in Conner. Hard with anger and loss, trying hard to stifle and steady himself. It wasn't going to work, and his feelings were about to come bubbling up like a river with a broken dam. Still, she asked experimentally:

"But that's Gregor. What did he do to _you?" _

That question was a mistake. The shaking in Brion's voice intensified so much that understanding him was becoming difficult as words meshed together, both in English and Markovian. 

"It also depended on what ya zroblya nepravylʹno...He beat me a few times, but it was mostly other things. vin zmusyv mene propuskaty yizhu **(he made me miss meals), **spaty **(sleep). **I vin--"

"Brion, stop for a second, okay? I need you to speak English to me. I want to help you, but I need to be able to understand. Take a deep breath for me."

She waited to her the long-hovering, shaky inhale and exhale. His voice was still shaking when he continued, but his hands weren't. 

"He made me skip meals sometimes, made me lose sleep. Other times he'd stop me from seeing my mother, because he knew that I was close to her. He'd go on and on, comparing me to Gregor in the ways he knew I was sensitive about. Like when he told me that I was 'sixteen minutes short of being good enough'. He made sure I knew that I wasn't good enough for Markovia's people. For him. A few times, he locked me out in the cold until I apologized for being disobedient. It was _Markovia _in the _Winter--_It was so cold and--" 

He felt himself starting to sweat as a sharp pain squirmed around in his chest. The room started to spin, Dinah's next question drowned out by his racing heartbeat. His father would've never approved of Brion being GeoForce. Being public. Being _seen _and _admired. _Confident. His father wouldn't approve. His father would be angry. But his father was dead. Papa was gone. Dead. Running. 

_He tore open the door to their bedroom. _

"Brion-"

_There they were, tossed in the center of their bed like stuffed animals. _

"Brion, listen to me-"

_He made eye-contact with his mother, her eyes frozen in shock and terror with the betrayal of her brother. _ _His uncle's hand touched his arm. _

_A hand on his arm. _

_A hand on his arm. _

A hand on his arm.

"Brion, what day is it?"

"It's Tuesday." 

"No," Dinah replied, "it's Friday."

He glanced around the room again, trying to get his bearings again, but all he could see was his parents' bedroom, his eyes clouded by tears. 

"Breathe, Brion, take a deep breath."

"I can't!" He cried.

She stood up before kneeling in front of him. "Brion, it's okay. Inhale-exhale. In and out."

"I...I can't breathe," he shook his head rapidly, putting a hand over his mouth, which Dinah was quick to pull off, so he moved it over to his chest, where his racing heartbeat slapped against it.

"Do you know where you are?" She said slowly, a way that contrasted his racing thoughts so much that it took him a while to answer.

Finally, he shook his head still gasping. What was wrong with him? What was happening? Why couldn't he do this? Where was Gregor? Was he okay? What was going on? _Where was he? _He struggled again for his bearings, this time as Dinah grabbed his hand. 

"Look at me," She said, tilting his chin towards her, exaggerating her own breaths, "_breathe. _That's all I need from you."

Another long pause as Brion steadied himself. He was still in Dinah's office, though the flashes of his mother's face didn't leave his mind. He ran a hand through his hair, which Dinah eyed carefully, probably to make sure he wasn't pulling at it. 

"Good," she coaxed, in a voice that made him think of the time Tara tried to earn the trust of a stray cat so she could somehow adopt it, "that's it. Breathe. That's good."

Eventually, she finally managed to talk him down from the frantic gasps that wracked his body. His body, sore from being so tense, finally slumped back into the chair and his eyes finally stopped being the size of tennis balls. Despite him having calmed down, it was clear to Dinah that he was either in denial about the problems he'd faced in his childhood or he was reluctant to think about his traumas. Either way, there was a lot to work on, despite all the progress he'd already made. 

"Do you think that reaction was normal?" She asked after a long silence. 

"No."

"Why did you react that way to when I asked about your father?"

"I..." He sputtered, "I don't really like thinking about him in a negative way. Not now that he's dead. He wouldn't have approved of us even saying that he made a bad _buisness decision, _let alone saying that he was a bad parent."

"Do you think he was a bad parent?"

"No."

"Then why did you say it?"

"It was just an expression," he turned away from her, focusing on a small hole in the wall that was undoubtedly made by someone else's anger and/or excited recklessness, "I don't honestly think that he was. He was raised the same way. He was just...misguided." 

Dinah decided not to trample on that idea. Using the word _misguided,_ at least, hinted at the idea that he knew that King Viktor's actions were wrong. And _bad parent _was an extremely subjective, opinionated term. She'd let it slide. The obvious aside, King Viktor may have genuinely thought his attitude towards his children was normal. Still, he was wrong. She knew that, Brion seemed to have some idea of that. It was established that it wasn't remotely _okay. _

"Let me ask you something else," Dinah said, "do you think that you deserved that?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it was exaggerated."

She wasn't about to ask for examples and risk hurting him more. He obviously wasn't ready for that. "Do you think that Gregor deserved it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he was...always so hardworking. I used to throw my tests out the window if I didn't think I'd pass and swear that I had turned them in. He would be up studying until the sun rose. We're different."

"Everyone is _different. _But why is it okay for you to feel pain and not him?"

"I...I don't know." 

"It's not. It's not okay for you to be putting yourself beneath other people," Dinah said, suddenly being reminded of her earlier sessions with Kaldur, "Gregor would probably say the same about you." 

"It's the Markov genes," Brion chuckled. 

"So you're all as self-deprecating?"

"Not in the same way, but yes."

"_Great,_" she mumbled, hoping Brion hadn't heard her slip-up. 

Before either of them could say anything else, a loud _beep-beep-beep _was heard, marking the end of their time together. 

Brion left with a lot on his mind. 


	9. Gregor, Please Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion sees how much his brother is hurting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The events of this chapter foreshadow another book  
ALSO, for the Ukrainian (and probably grammatically wrong, since I don't speak Ukrainian and Google Translate is not my friend):  
Malyy= "Small"  
Ebat'= "fuck/oh fuck"

It had been six months since Baazovi's U.N. trial, meaning Brion had had six months to recover. He'd learned a handful of things, including just how unsettlingly harmful Gregor's habits were, though he was still trying to convince his older brother to deal with it. And he couldn't stop seeing the way Gregor fluttered from place to place; cleaning, locking, closing, turning off, putting away. It was all systematic, all a set of numbers that Brion had memorized from years of the same sounds.

Seventeen shakes to the doorknob to make sure it was locked, wiping down the countertops (always starting on the left), checking his pajamas for holes before he changed, running his hand through Brion's hair as he passed by--not that Brion minded that one, turning the oven dial three times to make sure the oven was turned off, closing the shower curtain, then the bathroom door, and a handful of other tasks. 

"Gregor, Tara, come look," Brion called over from the couch, "there's apparently a Markovian channel in America."

"There is?" Tara asked. 

"And they're playing _Nudno _of all things."

"That trashy children's show from the '60s?" Gregor asked from the kitchen-space, where he was busy wiping the countertop. Brion wondered how Gregor even knew how to clean the counters, it definitely wasn't in his father's lessons, though he did know that his brother was obsessed with cleanliness. 

"Yes," Brion nodded, "the one with the puppets." 

"_Ebat', _is this what they think the Markovians watch?"

"Most likely." 

Gregor groaned, scurrying over to the bedroom, where he scanned his clothes for holes and loose strings. "Gregor, come sit," Tara pleaded, "you've been running around all day. I know you're tired."

"Just one second," Gregor said, moving onto the rest of his nighttime routine. 

Brion stood up, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. "Please, come and rest."

Gregor still wouldn't look at him. "I...I can't rest." 

"Why not, malyy?" He cocked his head to one side. Even though they'd done everything together, he'd never seen this side of his brother. 

"_Papa _wouldn't approve," Gregor mumbled, staring hard at a space between the tiles, "I just want to make him proud and..."

Brion slipped from English into Markovian. "He loved--he _loves _you. He'd be proud of all that you're doing for Markovia. But please, I'm watching you deteriorate, malyy." He leaned up to kiss his brother's forehead. "I can take care of everything that you do every night, okay? You deserve a break. That U.N. conference must've been exhausting."

Gregor smiled, though the shame of taking a break was thick in his chest. Brion could tell. With a sigh, he walked his older brother to the couch and passed him along to Tara, who half-forced him onto the couch and laid her head on his shoulder. Gregor visibly relaxed, but not enough for Brion not to check up on him each time he walked by. Still, Tara did a good job of keeping him calm and at the moment, his arm slipped around her like an emotional support dog. 

Once Brion had wrapped up Gregor's usual routine, he perched himself next to them. 

"I'm the oldest of us," Gregor whispered in Markovian, biting his lip between words so that the tears wouldn't fall, "I shouldn't _need _this. I should be helping you both and..."

"You're a brother, not a robot," Tara said, "we don't need you to be perfect. Just to be here." 

Brion took his brother's hands, watching as the truth settled in Gregor's stomach like dust after a sandstorm. He didn't _have _to be perfect or right all the time. Just present and loving and trying. And that, he could handle. His father would've beaten him bloody for this, crying for seemingly no reason. After all, what if that storm of emotions had hit him in public and he couldn't control it? That would've been awful for Markovia's image. But now, as much as it pained him, his father wasn't there to yell at him while some poor bastard in a servant's uniform watched. 

Those monsters weren't here, but his siblings were.

And they needed their brother.

They'd been separated for long enough. 

Maybe finding himself was a better idea than finding perfection after all. 


	10. Regained Composure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion's first mission back with the Outsiders goes delightfully horrible. Tara and Brion bond on the BioShip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1)I'm considering making this book 16 chapters in total. If I go with this idea, I'll write the first chapter of Gregor's story after publishing the fourteenth chapter of Brion's. Nothing is set in stone yet, but I think that's what I'll do.
> 
> 2) This chapter may be a little grammatically weird because I have no clue how the capitalization of made-up Young Justice words like "ZetaTube" or "BioShip" work, so that's how those two will be written. Correct me if I'm wrong. 
> 
> TW: "C*mmie" (shortened form of "communist", used as a slur for Russian/Ukrainian/etc. people)
> 
> And for reference: "Baba"= Grandma

A recon mission. That's what it was _supposed _to be.

Brion knew that he shouldn't have been excited when Bart crashed into a doorframe on the way out, effectively grabbing the attention of the "douchebag of the week", in Virgil's words. Garfield looked about ready to just torch the place and forget about the mission--hell, even with his green skin, Brion could see his cheeks getting red. Maybe the pressure of being public was getting to him, too. He wasn't so sure. It had been months since they'd had any face-to-face interaction, back on the night that Baazovi decided to make him..._no,_ he wasn't going to think about the lava-covered, wide-eyed stare of his Uncle now. There was too much to focus on and for once, the pressure and anxiety made him feel more alive than he ever had.

Tara was the last to climb out of her hiding place. It was seven against one, but it still made his heart race a little. 

"I hope you're not too rusty for this," Tara called over her shoulder, tossing a pebble between the opponent's eyes. A warning shot, he could tell. 

"Aw, look at you, caring about me," Brion teased. 

"I appreciate the sibling squabble, but now is _really _not a good time," Cassie reminded them, throwing a punch. 

Jaime snorted. "Says the only child. Every timeis a good time for sibling squabble."

The fight was quicker than Brion had gotten used to. Maybe he'd improved somehow, living in Markovia, or maybe he was just excited to _finally _be cleared to fight. Once it was over and they'd settled in on the BioShip, the rest of the team was busy watching the comments about their latest mission pour in from the internet. Brion, however, had clicked off after seeing the word _commie _for the fifth time. Tara had replied to a few of them, blue check-mark and all, with a succinct _fuck you _in both Markovian and English. She'd replied to one in German, too, but Brion couldn't read that because even though he was once fluent, he could only make out basic phrases anymore. The rest was a blur of swear words and places and feelings. 

"Brion...can I talk to you?" 

He turned to face his sister. "Why did you ask me in Markovian?"

"Because the others don't need to know about _within the family." _

_Within the family. _He'd always hated that phrase. It never meant anything good. It meant closed doors and family bonds, usually with a little drama thrown into the mix. 

"Why? What's going on?"

"That comment that you made about me..." she slipped back into English for just a second, "that I don't care about you. I always have and...I missed you so much. When I was with Slade and before then and after all the chaos this year. I need my big brother, Brion."

"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, "it was a joke. I didn't mean anything by it. I love you, of course, I do. I always have. I dedicated everything I had to searching for you. Acted like an asshole in America when I first showed up," he chuckled. 

"You've always had a temper," She reasoned. 

"No, Tara, you don't understand. I physically attacked Grayson once."

Tara held her hands up in mock-surrender and laughed. "Alright, alright. Mother of God, Brion." 

"Where did that come from?" 

"What do you mean?"

"_Mother of God. _All three of us say it but where did we learn it? We aren't even native English-speakers." 

"I'm pretty sure it was Baba's phrase, no?" 

"Baba Yulia or Baba Sofia?"

"Baba Yulia. She lived in London for a while, remember? She literally _taught us to speak English._ Where else would we have learned it from?"

"I don't know, we've been saying it for as long as I can remember," Brion pondered, "We should probably talk to Baba Yulia again. She has to be in her nineties by now."

"Almost. She's eighty-nine and still arguing with literally everyone."

"Sounds like her," Brion smirked, then his face fell, "I missed doing this. Something about these missions is...I don't know, it just..."

"It brings you back to life, right? Even when you're miserable?"

"_Yes! _That's exactly it."

As he felt his stomach lowering, he knew that BioShip was not-so-subtly dropping outside The Hub. As he watched Ed clutch his stomach from the motion sickness, grabbed by Virgil from behind before he fell all the way backward, Brion remembered that not everybody could handle these drops, not that it would change anything. Tara was leaning on a chair and clinging to her stomach, making him smirk down at her. 

"You can handle para-demons and meta-human enemies but not a drop like this?" He asked playfully, slipping back into English. 

_"ebatʹ tebe **(fuck you).**_" Judging by the chuckles around the Bioship, the rest of the team clearly knew what that phrase meant and he wondered why she would've said it so many times that they'd have it committed to memory. "You know I get motion-sick."

He laughed. "Yes, but it's my job to tease you," he said, leaning down to support her as she toppled forward, just before the door opened and the Outsiders walked out. 

Tara gave him a swift elbow to the ribs. "I'll say it again, _ebat' tebe,_ Brion."

"Seems redundant, but alright." 

The two siblings continued laughing as they made their way towards the ZetaTube to get home.


	11. Freaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion and Violet establish where they are in their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Updating again? Sounds fake. 
> 
> I don't really like Briolet all that much. I tolerate/enjoy certain things about it, but that's where it stops for me. 
> 
> Violet's non-binary identity will be respected, so I'll be referring to her as his PARTNER, not GIRLFRIEND. Still using she/her pronouns because I have no reason not to, as that's what she's called in canon.

"Brion, I have a question," Violet entered the living room of The Hub, "what am I to you?"

"What do you mean?"

Since Brion had moved back in with his teammates, he'd noticed how Violet had been dodging him. It wasn't exactly surprising, really. After all, he'd gone ahead and betrayed them all, and the reveal that it was mind-control definitely wouldn't just reverse all of the trauma caused. Still, the way her voice shook had his stomach in knots. 

"Are we still together or are we friends? Or do you not want me in your life? I just want to understand. We haven't spoken since you've come back. Are you avoiding me?"

"No!" He paused, realizing he was far louder than he should've been. _Patience. Breathe. Dhykhaty **(Breathe). **_"I still, definitely, want you around. You, Fred, Garfield...all of you. I don't have any problem with you. I just wanted to give you time...after everything that happened between us." 

"But are we still together?"

"What do you want my answer to be?"

"I...don't know. You're coming off of something horrible. Mind-control and corruption and murder and--" she cut herself off, realizing that Tara, who was not-so-secretly eavesdropping, was growing pale, "I don't want to be a burden on you in your hardships." 

"I've moved on--well, I'm _trying _to move on, from all of that. In a few months, the official transfer of Markovia from monarchy to democracy will take place. Then, I'll be completely stripped of my political titles and I'll be able to do whatever I want, honestly. And that includes...yak ty tse skazav? _**(how did you say it?)**_.._.coming off of_ these issues. So don't worry about me. What do you want?"

"I don't really know."

"Neither do I."

"Is that a sign that we should break up?"

"I know nothing about this sort of thing, really...my only other partner was a Markovian girl my parents picked out."

Tara suppressed a groan in the doorway. She remembered Brion's first girlfriend well, and for all the wrong reasons. Still, she kept her choice words to herself. Maybe she'd set them loose on Gregor later. After all, he'd definitely get a laugh out of at least some of them.

"Then...how about this?" She asked stiffly, "we just...take a break and be friends. At least temporarily. We can always change things later."

"Yes, that sounds...right to do," Brion agreed awkwardly, then decided to change the subject, "my grandmother is flying in from Markovia next week."

"Is that good news?"

"If it were my other grandmother, I'd say no, but I think you'll like her. She loves embarrassing us, so...we'll see," he laughed, "she's actually excited to meet the people in America who've been around us."

"She sounds like a very great woman." 

"She is. Eighty-nine-years-old and somehow still bitter for no reason."

"Do you think she'll have a problem with me?"

"Why? Because she's an older Markovian and you're Quraqi? No, she would never--"

"I meant my gender."

"Oh, no...not at all. Markovia is surprisingly progressive for Eastern Europe." 

"Really?"

Brion's eyes lit up when he got a chance to talk about his culture. "Markovia was actually founded by a group of Russian exiles back in...mother of God, what year?"

"Eighteen-seventy-nine," Tara chirped from the other room, plopping down next to him like a normal, playful younger sister, as if this information hadn't been _drilled _into her memory, "you really don't remember?"

"I never remember these things, you know that. Remember how often I used to get smacked upside the head?" He asked in Markovian.

"Yeah, and then you'd laugh," she rolled her eyes, "Papa loved us--he sucked at showing it, but he loved us. Loved you. Even if you were a nightmare from time to time."

"Excuse me, I was a nightmare _all_ the time," Brion looked at her, mock-offended, before turning back to Violet and speaking in English, "so yes, Markovia had always been accepting of outcasts. And freaks." 

Violet giggled. "Freaks like us."

"Freaks like us," Brion agreed as Tara obnoxiously flopped onto his lap, ready to doze off right then and there. 

Things were back to normal. _Finally, _back to whatever weird, lopsided version of normality he'd come to know. The normality of freaks.


	12. I'll Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion finally gets Gregor to talk to Dinah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hinted at this already, but this book isn't entirely JUST about Brion. There's another Markov brother who is also a traumatized mess. 
> 
> The language that I use for "Markovian" is Google Translate quality Ukrainian.

Gregor's accent was thicker than Brion's, his English was much less polished. The language came out of him like honey out of a jar: slowly, tediously. That was his excuse for not coming to see her. Dinah didn't speak Markovian, and English wasn't Gregor's best. But Brion and Tara had nagged him into it in the way that only younger siblings can. And, of course, the fact that Brion had already brought up a few _anecdotes _to Dinah wouldn't help him much.

She spoke slowly, and Gregor wondered if she normally talked like this or if she knew he was the farthest thing from a native English speaker, having learned five other languages before this one. Either way, he knew to be grateful for it. 

"So, Gregor, you were the King of Markovia, right?"

"Yes..."

_Mother of God, where was she going with this?_

He started counting things around the room, pulling himself down into reality. Brion wasn't so good at that--his thoughts could take him a year into the future if he was left alone for long enough, but Gregor had an easier time keeping himself level-headed and, hopefully, straight-faced.

_Odna, dvi, try, chotyry, pʺyatʹ, shistʹ, sim, visim, devʺyatʹ ruchok u chashtsi **(one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine pens in the cup). **_

Her desk was organized almost as meticulously as his. 

"That sounds like a lot of pressure."

"It...was, you're correct in that but..._someone _had to do it, and I'd rather it be myself than someone random," he knew how to keep people unconcerned with him, and he planned on using that skill today, "there are some oblivious Markovians, truly. They don't _know,_" he joked.

"What don't they know?"

"Excuse me?"

He was sure Brion had done that to her. Trying to get her to repeat herself so that he could have some time to mull over the question. Judging by the look she gave him, she saw right through it.

"What does the average Markovian not know about politics?"

"How difficult it is. We always look like it's easy, we _have _to look like it's easy so no one worries for us, but being thrown into politics from a young age isn't easy."

"And you wished they had?"

"I worked hard," he kept his voice steady, even though his hands were rattling, "I just wish anyone would understand how hard I worked."

"Your brother told me that you've always been a hard worker. That you obsess over things."

"Well, I had to. That was my _job." _

"Right. And why was it your job?"

"Because I was the oldest child."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because by Markovian law--"

"I'm not asking about Markovian law, I'm asking about _you. _What does _your _place as the oldest son mean to _you? _Why does it make a difference?"

"It...it mattered to me because it mattered to my father. And that's good enough."

"Is it really, though?"

"Yes," he said, voice clear of hesitation, "it was my job to come after him as a leader, I wanted to be like him someday."

"You wanted to be like him?" She repeated back to him. 

Why was this beginning to feel like an interrogation? Why was he getting so angry? Was this how Brion felt, when he was unstable after coming to America?

The bitter silence was apparently too long for Dinah's liking, since she tried to coax him with: "I can't help you if you don't let me, Gregor. I know you know that."

_I know you know. _Mother of God, screw the English language and all of its weirdly-structured sentences. 

"Of course I want to be like him."

"The man that put all that pressure on you. You want to be just like him?"

It was almost as if she couldn't believe her ears. He couldn't believe his tongue. Why had he said that, actually? He knew his father didn't love him, no matter how many times he said otherwise. He knew he was a source of work and nothing more, a chance for developing political advantages. 

"No. He had a certain level of skills as a leader that--that I wanted. So I worked for it."

_Don't repeat words and damnit K__hlopchyk_ _**(boy), **__sit straight for once!_

Strange, how even though the King was dead, Gregor could almost feel the rough palm in the center of his back. His posture had always been _awful. _

"Was there ever a limit on how hard you could push yourself?"

"Brion kept me in line. I'd probably work myself to death without him."

She took a long breath. "None of the adults ever told you to rest?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No, the adults in my life were always trying to get me to do _more."_

He said it as if it were normal. Because it was, right? It had to be. He couldn't have been the only one in a world of God-knows-how-many people who had been overworked this way.

"Today, that's changing. When you leave here today, the best thing you can do is go home and recuperate. Don't go from here and straight back to work, you won't have a clear head. I know I threw a lot at you, so just take some time to process, okay? And think about taking some time on your own, or even with your siblings. You can talk to them about what you're thinking."

"No, I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I'm the oldest and it--it wouldn't be right to dump things on them."

"Gregor, you're not a sponge to suck up everyone's problems. Brion and Tara _want _to help you, but you need to let them in before that can happen. And I know it's easier said than done, but just try to let your walls down a little bit, yes?"

Another long silence fell over the two of them as Gregor mulled it over. It would be something new, talking about himself to Brion and Tara without Brion icing a bruise or scrubbing dried blood off of him, but maybe it would be for the better. He had never liked being vulnerable in front of them, he wanted to be their unbreakable big brother, but maybe that wasn't an option anymore. Maybe he was just as broken as they were. 

"Okay...I'll...I'll try," he said slowly, chewing his lip in thought--another habit his father _despised. _

Dinah sighed again. "Okay...go home and relax, okay?"

Gregor nodded and stood up. He had a lot to think about. 

And a pair of siblings to spend time with.


	13. It's Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brion and Tara talking shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me??? Updating??? shocking, I know. 
> 
> Shortening the book from 16 chapters to 14 because I don't have many ideas left for this story and honestly, I don't want the quality to suffer b/c I'm just jamming stuff out.

Late nights had become common for the Markovs. Since living in the Hub, they usually ended in goofing off on the group chat until they all fell asleep one by one. Tonight, though, Gregor wasn't picking up his phone. Either that meant he was busy working or he had actually managed to fall asleep for once. Either way, Brion wasn't about to bother him, so he got up to see if Tara was awake.

"Metelyk?"

"I'm up," she replied in Markovian, rolling over in bed to face him, "as usual."

Brion chuckled. "I thought you might want to go out. Come on, put some real clothes on and we can head off to that place you showed me."

Tara smiled up at him. "One second," she said. 

He left the room as she shut the door. 

Tara got herself changed and made a vague attempt to somewhat fix her hair. _2:12 AM _her clock read, that left them with more than enough time to get into whatever antics they decided on. Her father would've absolutely _gawked _at her clothing choice, though that was most days. She'd grown more relaxed and, in a lot of ways, even spiteful in her appearance. Her criteria for clothes had become anything she wouldn't have previously been allowed to wear, and she was considering letting Harper dye her hair something that wealthy Markovians would be horrified by, like blue or purple or green or some other ridiculous color that could only show up naturally with a certain type of metagene. 

She threw on a battered hoodie with a symbol of a band she'd never heard of and a pair of ripped jeans, then she tied her hair out of her face. It was hardly long enough for a ponytail, but a simple ponytail was something that her mother would've _begged her _to decorate. But tonight, that wasn't happening. Tonight, she was going off to make dumb decisions with her big brother and they were going to goof off and enjoy themselves.

As she left The Hub, hand-in-hand with Brion, she prayed to every God she knew that there would be no press. As much as she loved being an Outsider and rebranding away from her old 'innocent princess' self, the public could be _vultures. _

"Did you watch the new episode of _Sertse?" _She asked in Markovian. 

"No, because you're the only one who watches that shit."

"Oh, _come on, _you used to be _obsessed _with that show."

"Yes, when I was _ten." _

"Well, I'm fifteen. That's only a five-year difference."

"Five years is a long time."

"Shut the fuck up," she said, elbowing him, "_fine, _did you watch the _Space Trek _finale?"

"No, but I have it downloaded, don't spoil--"

"The commander dies."

"Goddamnit, Tara!"

"Payback," she said simply, grinning, "don't make fun of me next time."

Brion rolled his eyes. "It's almost as if, I don't know, I'm your brother and that's what I'm supposed to do."

"No, it's not!"

"Yes, it is."

"Okay, fine, it is." 

It was.

It was his job to make fun of her and tease her and be playful. Not because he was her brother, but because he was Brion Markov, because he knew exactly what would annoy her. He knew the way her mind worked and she knew the same about his. He knew what she loved and hated, all those weird quirks she had. Like the shared fear of sixteens and bad luck and how she was still afraid of those stupid stories her grandmother had told her about demons in the closet. 

He knew all of that.

Because that's what his job was. 


	14. Final Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end (or beginning) of the Markovs' journey to getting back to 'normal', whatever that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everybody!! This last chapter took me forever to get out.
> 
> I have some concepts in the works but I don't know how much I like them yet. The Gregor book will definitely be out at some point, though. 
> 
> Once I'm done with this chapter, this book is going to go through some edits. Mostly grammatical and phrasing stuff, the nonexistent and self-indulgent plot will stay the same.
> 
> And yes, Gregor's grammatical errors are intentional.

Tara, Brion, and Gregor sat awkwardly in front of Dinah. All three of them had been _attempting _to follow her advice, not that it usually worked. Tara had let some of her walls down, even with the way she dressed, unapologetically wearing her hair in a Russian-style headwrap--which she _never _would've done. Viktor would've called it 'too casual'. 

Dinah glanced between the three faces. There wasn't much to say, really. She'd been excited to see them grow, and something about the way Brion wasn't fidgeting anymore and the way Gregor was actually making eye contact got her even more excited. 

"What's been happening between the three of you?"

"Absolutely nothing," Tara said, chuckling, "_nothing. _No Outsider calls, either."

"You sound bored."

"I am."

Brion nearly snorted. "Mother of God, tell us how you really feel. Don't be shy."

"Come on," Tara said, "look who's talking!"

"_Alright," _Dinah said pointedly, trying to shut down the argument, "but how have things been? _Really _been, between the three of you?"

Gregor shrugged. "Fine."

"Not an answer."

"Then what _is _an answer?"

"What have you been doing? What's your relationship like? I need an explanation."

"We...we've been stay in the hotel room. Markovia's reform is completely set in stone, taking the weight off my shoulders. Baazovi is off doing whatever it is he does in prison." He glanced at Brion for a moment. "Nothing seems to be _wrong." _

Dinah smiled. "Then that wraps things up here," she said. 

The three Markovs left the room.

"What now?" Brion asked in Markovian.

"Teaching Gregor how the English language works?" Tara asked.

"Hey! I've gotten better!"

"No, you haven't."

"He has, Tara," Brion interrupted, "but really, if you're going to stay here...you need to learn how verbs work."

"Fine, fine. But then you have to learn not to argue with me in English."

"Oh, I'll argue with you in every language under the sun." Tara shrugged. "And I speak more languages than you, so you might not even understand when I yell at you."

"Little shit."

She beamed. "Oooooh, swear words from _King Gregor?"_

"Not anymore."

"True, true." She threw her hands up in mock-surrender.

And the Markovs started to do what they did best--tease each other. 


End file.
